


Return of The Mack

by orphan_account



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back to Run the Show</p><p>Watch My Flow!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return of The Mack

**Author's Note:**

> Shit, I smell a sequel!!!!!

Return of The Mack

 

“Syed, did you remember to pick up those things I ordered?” She was folding Yasmin's clothes, not looking in his direction. Just as well really, since the expression on his face would have told her everything she needed to know: what fucking things? She talked so fucking much, obsessed so much over trivialities that it was all he could do to even nod in the right places these days. As for remembering her instructions to buy this, fix that, pick up this little thing or post that little thing – forget it!

“I was just on my way now.” He grabbed his house keys, hoping that there was nothing frantic about the movement. He _felt_ frantic, but wasn't prepared to let it show, not now, not when there were all these plans afoot. The first sign of panic he allowed to seep into his conscious awareness would undoubtedly open the floodgates. He needed to stay strong for his mum, for his daughter. “For Yasmin, right?”

“Yes. The shop said they'd put them aside for you to pick up.”

“Great.” Er what shop? “And they've been paid for already.”

She didn't even have the grace to look shame-faced. Actually she looked put upon, like he was churlish for even bringing up the subject of money. “We agreed, Syed.” Her sigh was designed to make him feel ashamed. “You said you'd pay for them.”

No, he hadn't; of that he was certain. “Okay. And that's all?”

“Well, actually, I was looking in Boots. I mean Boots, I know, but at least they've got a section exclusively devoted to French fragrances.” She was sidling toward him and instinctively he was moving backwards. Funny how much things had changed: before he'd committed to Christian he'd actually been able to tolerate her touch. True he'd still struggled with the really intimate stuff, but her playfulness he could handle. Not anymore. But short of putting his hands between them like a barrier there wasn't much he could do that wouldn't be incredibly hurtful and insulting. “I love Chanel.” She was playing with the collar of his shirt, smiling into his eyes, her perfume strong, but pleasant – as always. God , did she really need _more_ perfume?

“I'll have a look,” he promised, knowing he wouldn't. “See you later.”

The kiss at the side of his mouth – apparently meant for his cheek – should have been anticipated (she'd slowly been incorporating physical affection into their relationship) and it _was_ , it just came at the wrong time for the mood he was in and thus felt more like a blow than a signal of affection. He gave her a parody of a smile, and doing his best not to actually run, made his way out the flat.

New life in another country with his beloved daughter; he should have been happy as anything, yet felt more like a hapless mammal caught in the embrace of a python, utterly helpless even as it felt the life being slowly, inexorably squeezed out of him...

 

**

 

he price he was being asked to pay for the two pieces of material some skilled designer had fashioned into a frock for a one year old child was ludicrous, so he refused to pay it. No, he really didn't care that his wife had ordered it, had _agreed_ to pay for it. Since they still had the goods in their possession and no contract had been signed he really didn't see where the problem lay. No, he really didn't give a fuck about good will and the fact that his wife's reputation as a lifelong, erstwhile highly valued customer would now be tarnished, he wasn't fucking paying for it!

Fuming, he strode blindly down the street, not caring who he bumped into, not bothering to apologise whenever he did. 

There were many things he was prepared to put up with when it came to Amira, but this thing she had where she had to conspicuously display her wealth – even when she had none – was, right now, more than he could stomach. She'd made a choice – him or her father's wealth - and she'd clearly chosen him, even without the guarantee of a full relationship, even in the full knowledge that he was with Christian. And that had meant a hell of a lot at the time. Only now he was starting to wonder just how much of a _conscious_ choice it had actually been. It didn't seem to have really penetrated that he couldn't possibly keep her in the manner to which she'd become accustomed; that he would _never_ again be sexually intimate with her, that he most definitely didn't and couldn't love her in the way she wanted him to. Had she simply been hedging her bets then, almost praying that his relationship with Christian would fall apart; that she could somehow refuel his ambitions, get him to where she wanted him financially, socially? It had certainly started to feel like they were on very different pages when it came to their relationship. But maybe that had been down to _him_. Maybe he hadn't made it fucking clear _enough_ that not only was he gay, but that he was also still desperately in love with Christian; that were Christian to give even the slightest sign of interest Syed would be with him like a shot.

Was he being unfair to her? Was he guilty once again of leading her on? What business did he really have going to live in Pakistan with her, acting like they were a couple; that he wasn't with her simply to gain access to his daughter? Could he really ask her to live like that for the rest of her life? _He_ wasn't prepared to live a loveless life. Should he expect _her_ to? Should he allow her to keep hoping that he'd come to want her, love her, when he knew that he never would?

But his mum wanted them there. And it was true, there wasn't so much going on for them over here: they would definitely have a better life in Pakistan – but only if he played the dutiful husband. Could he do that? Could he live that much of a lie, even for his daughter's sake?

Coming out of the fog of confused musings he found himself at a bus stop, and without even thinking it through found himself joining the queue. Five minutes after that he found himself on an unfamiliar bus route, embarking on an unfamiliar journey...

 

**

There were certain areas you couldn't go if you were Muslim – he'd learned that lesson up North – so it became almost second-nature to very carefully assess any ground that was unfamiliar. Christian had told him that the same was true for gays – you soon learned where not to venture, and whenever you accidentally stepped into potentially hostile territory your animal instincts generally kicked in and got you quickly out of the danger zone.

Well he knew _where_ he was, though he'd never been here before, and so far as he knew this was a safe area for both gays _and_ Muslims.

He just didn't know what the fuck he was doing there.

He'd got off the bus in what was clearly the shopping centre and for the past 15 minutes had been walking around hoping he didn't look like the total stranger he was. But it wasn't like this centre was any different from any other centre: same shops, same bloody layout when all was said and done. And you know what, while he was here why not spend his money on his daughter – in a way that made fucking sense? 

Early learning centre it was then...

He didn't really want to ask _anyone_ anything, but he could probably spend all day looking for a shop that wasn't even there and he honestly didn't fancy that today, so the next friendly young-motherish person he saw...

Frowning, he found his steps starting to slow as his brain tried to make sense of what it was seeing. Christian. Unmistakably Christian. Unmistakably Christian, only he was with another man. With another man laughing and joking. Walking too close, heads too close, bodies too close.

With another man.

Syed stood in the middle of the path, shoppers milling about him, casting curious or irritated glances in his direction.

He didn't even notice. His body had frozen, mind had stilled - a vast empty void of nothingness.

Christian. Christian with another man.

He turned to walk back the way he came, but some thing took hold of him and instead he found himself turning back, turning back and walking purposefully toward where he'd seen them disappear.

 

 

**

MacDonalds. Classy.

It was packed, but he had no trouble making him out – middle of fucking winter, but he had his arms out anyway. Christian was like a bloody furnace even in the winter so no surprise that he was wearing a T-shirt. Where was his 'friend' though? He was definitely alone at the counter. Well if you could call being in a queue with 40 other people alone...

Syed didn't like MacDonalds, had never liked MacDonalds, but he'd been there often enough and in any case the mood he was in he just didn't give a fuck about queue jumping...

He pushed and pushed until he reached Christian's side, grabbing at his arm as he lost his balance.

“Oops, careful there!”

Syed defiantly met this gaze, but said nothing. What was there to say?

“Syed!” He was surprised, definitely surprised, possibly even...shocked?

“Hello Christian.”

“My god, what are you doing here?” Still shocked, still not smiling, still didn't seem particularly pleased to see him.

“Shopping.”

Christian frowned at him, clearly not knowing exactly how to take this. “Okay. Long way from home.”

“Another county, sure, _not_ the back of beyond.”

“Or another country.” He was definitely not fucking smiling and Syed realised that he knew. Somehow he knew. Jane had told him that Christian was no longer interested and he'd thus quite naturally assumed that she wouldn’t, therefore, be keeping him up to date with any of Syed's business – you know things that were _his_ fucking business! Clearly he'd been wrong.

“True. Is that any of your business though?”

“Apparently not.”

“ _You're_ the one who said it was over.”

“Really? You are really going to put that on me? You move your wife and kid into our home and expect me to fucking lump it; pretty much tell me that I'm a manipulative liar, a child molester no less, make it clear that you do not fucking trust me in _any_ way and _I'm_ the one who ended it? Nice one, Sy.” He had his arms folded. 

Syed hated when he folded his arms that way.

“I didn't fucking walk away, didn't give up on us. After _everything_ we'd been through, Christian. Weren't we _important_ enough to stay and try for?”

“I _did_ try. I tried every fucking day. But I could feel you slipping away, Sy. You were never, ever going to choose me, and I didn’t want to ever put you in the position where you'd have to _tell_ me that to my face.”

Syed stared at him, unable to push the words past the lump in his throat. Is that what he thought, that Syed would have chosen Amira and Yasmin over him? “No, Christian, you are wrong, you are so, so wrong. I can't believe you actually thought that and that you then _decided_ that and acted on that decision _without_ talking it through with me.”

“I wanted to make it easy for you.”

“Easy? Easy? For fuck's sake!” He found himself glaring through the blur of angry tears, too incensed to speak.

“Jesus, will you two just bloody kiss and make up so we can get this queue moving!”

This was followed by a chorus of heartfelt agreement, punctuated by 'god I thought when it was two blokes you'd get away from the fucking drama' 'get a fucking room', 'no, don't take him back' and variations on a similar theme.

He wanted to be offended: couldn’t believe he'd just aired his dirty laundry in public like that, but one look at Christian's face and he found his lips twitching. “Shall we?”

“What?” But his voice had dropped to its lowest register - the voice he used for seduction and tasks pertaining to seduction...

“Get a room.”

Though Christian grinned and took his arm, Syed knew the answer was 'no'.

 

**

Well Christian's friend really was that – a friend – but though Syed accepted that and _tried_ to be pleasant he still resented the hell out of him. For a start he was there and oh yeah he was there...

“Walford? Yeah heard of it. Used to live in the East End.” Simon had this habit of not paying that much attention to the road as he drove and this drove Syed spare.

“You really don't have to. I can easily get the bus back.”

“And then I'd never hear the end of it from this one.”

Oh well then, best shut my trap then. Syed knew he was being really churlish; he was the one who'd messed up Simon's plans after all, yet he just couldn’t seem to shake off the resentment. It most definitely didn't help that Simon seemed like a genuinely nice guy. It would have been so much more satisfying had he been a bastard; a jealous bastard from whom Syed was wresting back his man. The truth, however, was that he could attempt to wrest back his man all he liked; while the man in question appeared content to remain un-wrested there really was very little to be done.

And since the man knew that he and his lover really needed to talk – alone – his every action seemed to indicate that he appeared to be going out of his way to ensure that just didn’t happen.

“Your dad okay?” Christian was way too casual in the asking, so Syed assumed that the question had layers, and furthermore, that he was expected to recognise this - and respond accordingly.

“He's happy.” With Jane.

“Good.”

The next unspoken question lay in the air between them, but Syed knew that for all his bluntness Christian respected him enough _not_ to ask it. Not like Christian didn't have his _own_ issues with Yusuf.

“Phil Mitchell's been arrested.”

“Good. I don't even care what it's for, I just want that man behind bars.”

“Roxy seems to think that it's pretty serious.”

“She never said.”

“Well I suppose she's had a bit on her plate hasn't she?” So he was still in touch with Roxy and the cow had continued to blank him in the street, giving absolutely no indication that she was still in communication with his lover.

“Nothing but drama on the square.” He turned and grinned at him, then turned back. “Can't say I missed it.”

Simon glanced at his friend, but said nothing. 

So even he recognised the hurtfulness of that statement. Only Christian didn't seem to clock it. He could, of course have _meant_ it to come across exactly the way Syed had taken it. In which case...But no, he hadn’t had a public showdown in the middle of fucking MacDonalds to go home empty-handed.

“Christian, can we talk? I know this isn't the best time...”

“Syed.” He turned in his seat, giving Syed the courtesy of his full attention., “What more is there to talk about. Really? You made your choice and I respect that-”

“Stop bloody saying that! I didn’t make a fucking choice! Wasn't that the whole point- that it was an _impossible_ choice. You said it yourself. No, let me bloody finish! You l _eft_ me. You _always_ bloody leave me. Every single time you get hurt or feel misunderstood you run. Do you have any idea how that feels? You always make me feel like I hurt you so fucking much that you _have_ to run away and because _I_ can't run that it means that I don't hurt, that I don't feel like I'm dying inside. I'm the one who always has to stay because _I'm_ the one who always has to compromise, always have to please you, please my family, please everyone but myself! I _want_ to run, Christian. Every day I wanted to find you, wanted to run to be where you were and no not even having Yasmin fills that hole. I want to have my child in my life, but not at the expense of my own personal happiness, Christian. How can you not see that. Yes, we have issues – I didn't show you the trust and commitment you deserved, but it shouldn't break us. How could that break us, Christian? I agree, love isn't enough, but we've got _more_ than love, Christian. Please tell me you feel that too.”

He'd made a point of keeping his hands to himself, although he'd wanted to touch him – his face, his arms, his hair. Touching him was too much, shouldn’t be a part of this. It was about the words. Had to be about the words – and the feeling behind them. Christian had to see that without it getting mixed up with Syed's caresses...

Christian stared into his eyes, and Syed could see that he was conflicted. But while there'd been a time when Syed could pretty much count on knowing how Christian would react in most situations he'd been surprised once too often lately to set too much store in that right now. “Syed, I want to, I really do, but the fact is, I don't trust you – not anymore. I know you think I'm being unfair and maybe I am, but I didn't make that decision _lightly._ I let you go before because I felt it was the right thing to do – for you, not me. I feel that way now. Having me in your life puts you in an impossible position. Amira's right: I took you away from her, ruined her life. I resented her for wanting me away from Yasmin, but she's right – I've no right to enjoy your child while she's left out in the cold. I hate that she's with you – I will not deny that – but also know that what _I_ feel must be tripled for her. And above all, Syed, I'm just tired, tired of all of it, tired of your family always being there – hating me, making us feel dirty for what we've got between us; tired of Amira always being there, always _going_ to be there. Sy, I've had enough. I'm sorry.” And he looked sorry, but not broken, not broken the way Syed knew he was.

He moved backwards, almost involuntarily. Is that what it was? Christian didn't feel the same anymore?

“Sy...” Christian reached for him.

“What exactly did she say?”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Amira, you said she accused you of taking me away from her, ruining her life. When? When did she say this?” He felt ridiculously calm. Broken, but utterly cold and calm.

“Sy, it doesn't matter. She was right. And in any case it was my decision-”

“She spoke to you when I went next door didn't she? She spoke to you and the next thing I know you're in a black cab, walking out of my life. So I'm asking you one last time: what did she say?”

Christian stared at him and though he made no move to answer Syed saw something in his expression...change...

 

 

**

“Syed, what are you doing here?” His mum was looking tired. She'd always worked too hard, but lately it had begun to take its toll and showed – in her face, the way she held herself, her energy levels.

He supposed that, like himself, there came a time when it all became too much, way, way too fucking much. “Why? Was Amira asking for me?”

“She said she sent you out to pick up some things for Yasmin and you've been gone for hours.” She didn't seem too concerned, just seemed to be following her habitual impulse to nag.

“I went shopping.”

“Well she's waiting for you next door. We cooked a nice tikka for you.”

Well that was a first – Amira cooking. “Not really hungry, mum. Is Yasmin still here?”

“Yes, she's asleep. We're keeping her here tonight. You can go up, but be quiet. Kamil's a light sleeper; he wakes up at the slightest creak of the stair so do not make a noise.”

Smiling, he kissed his mother's cheek. “I won't. Down in a minute.”

Climbing the stairs felt rather absurdly like climbing a mountain. He felt drained, used up, tired of it all. Yes, Christian was right – he was tired of it all. Truly tired.

Kamil was awake, standing up in his cot, really happy to see him. Syed sat with him for a while and they watched Yasmin sleep. She was beautiful, she really was. Making her was just about the best thing he'd _ever_ done, and watching her grow up would be the best, it really would. But he no longer thought that was likely to happen. “You'll look after her , wont you, Kam? Your beautiful niece.”

Kamil looked up at him and it was only when the little fingers touched his cheek that he realised that he was crying.

 

 

**

 

He didn't go home that night.

He'd told Christian that they needed to talk, but that they needed somewhere private, and Christian had agreed to meet him the following day – not in Walford, somewhere neutral. So he decided to rent a room for the night (outside the area) and invite him there the following day. 

He'd left his mother's house and gone straight to the bus stop, not even bothering to _glance_ at the flat where Amira sat waiting for him. Eventually he'd confront her – well it would _turn_ into a confrontation and that was the very reason he'd decided to leave it – but really there was very little to say. He was asking for a divorce and expected to be given access to his daughter. He didn't care if it went to the courts. _That_ no longer caused him sleepless nights.

He didn't know what Amira's game was, all he knew was that he seemed to want certain things from him, from their relationship, which, as far as he was concerned, were simply not on. He'd fooled himself into thinking he could live with that; live with the satisfaction of having _Yasmin_ in his life, but as time went on he'd admitted to himself that that was no kind of life.

And now he'd seen Christian again, well his ability to make do, to keep on fooling himself had frizzled away.

Yes, he'd been angry with him, couldn't deny it, for once again Christian had walked away, left him holding the bag and even now didn't seem regretful, still seemed to think that he'd done the right thing. And he'd obviously been doing just fine without him, happy enough to get on with his life. Had that been why Jane had told him to move on, because she knew that Christian didn't miss him at all; that he'd moved on? Well he may have convinced himself it was over, but Syed was going to show him that he was dead wrong.

Didn't matter how many tries it took, eventually they'd get it right, and that's why it was worth fighting: because whatever was wrong was _fixable_. _Nothing_ was irreparable. The only thing that might get in the way was a lack of interest, a lack of motivation. But here's the thing: he knew that Christian still loved him. All Christian needed was the _motivation_ to get back in the water and face down that next big wave, not allow the fact that there were sharks all around to stop him diving in. and one thing Syed knew for sure was that when Christian felt it was _worth_ it he'd swim through shark-infested waters all day long and never _once_ give up.

Syed simply had to convince him that it was worth it.

 

**

 

Well he couldn't actually turn off the phone since he was expecting _Christian's_ call, but he was so tired of getting calls from everyone who wasn't Christian. Yes, he did feel guilty about up and leaving without a word, but this was something he had to do for _himself_ , and there was no way he was going to speak to any of his family – Amira included – and run the risk of souring his mood before meeting Christian. 

He needed a clear head here, needed to be absolute, certain, and strong in his desires. Hadn't that always been the trouble between him and Christian; that he had never been strong enough, clear enough in letting Christian know that he was important; that his family wouldn't _always_ come first. And yes, it was true they _had_ always come before Christian, but only because he'd thought that that was the way it was meant to be. It had always been family first, second and third – drummed into him that family was the bedrock of the community. It was entirely _foreign_ to be the way that Christian wanted them to be – independent from and even slightly estranged from the family. Christian clearly had no real conception of what family meant to him, and it had taken Syed a really long time to understand this, understand that it wasn't that Christian was being selfish and self-centred, but simply that since family meant something quite different to him he absolutely could not see into Syed's world and understand his feelings. And _because_ he couldn't understand he saw it as Syed being weak, allowing others to dictate to him. He still had no true appreciation of what it had cost Syed to choose him, to take on the burden of lifelong estrangement from his family. All _he_ saw was the hurt, which he could, of course, understand: he just had no idea how deep the scars actually went. 

And for all Christian wanted them to have a family of their own he still couldn't understand exactly why Yasmin was so damn important to him.

But perhaps that was something he couldn't be expected _to_ understand. Perhaps Syed had been unfair to expect from him something he simply didn't have the power to give.

It was something that they'd needed to sit down and discuss, but instead of getting the opportunity to talk it through – the fact that he had a child of his own and how that might affect their partnership - they'd instead been thrust into a sea of resentment, misunderstandings, mistrust and hurt. 

And look where it had led.

He had honestly never in his worst nightmares expected Christian to be capable of ending it so easily.

And he really seemed determined to keep it ended; to really move on from Syed.

He'd expected to be so angry with him, but he hadn't been: faced with him, breathing the same air as him once more, all he'd wanted was for them to be friends again, to laugh again, to lie together and talk, comfort each other, find their ways through like they'd done so often in the past. 

Why hadn't he trusted him? Christian had always stood by him when it mattered. He should have told him what Amira had said, how she was acting, how she was manipulating him with Yasmin; how he felt about the entire situation. At least then Christian would have been aware of his thought processes, his emotions, his confusion, his desire to try to please everyone whilst causing the minimum hurt, and not seen it as betrayal, as Syed trying to decide who he wanted more – the way it had been once before.

He'd been an idiot, and though he still felt justified in his expectation that Christian show some understanding of his dilemma, now realised that he'd fucked that up the minute he decided to go behind his back.

He should have recognised that when it came to Amira Christian was _bound_ to be extra sensitive. He'd understood it when it came to _Amira_ ; understood that she was bound to be extra, extra sensitive when it came to Christian and had forgiven her her harshness toward him. The reason he hadn't been as sensitive when it came to Christian's feelings was because he'd erroneously assumed that Christian would naturally understand that as the winnerhe 'd be _expected_ to be more magnanimous.

In his head it was quite clear: he didn't love Amira, would never love Amira, would never be able to give her even a 10th of what she wanted from him so he had to try harder with her, _had_ to be gentler, more accommodating. But why the fuck had he expected this to be clear to Christian when they had never bloody talked about it?

They were both really sensitive about Amira, so rarely ever talked about her, about the past, how they felt about what had happened. And that was the trouble, of course: because they never had it had been impossible to start when they really damn well _needed_ to.

He had _not_ expected Christian to be jealous of her, not now, not _still_ , so had dismissed all the signs, all the indicators that he was becoming frayed around the edges, that Amira was the grit in his eye he just couldn’t seem to rid himself of, and bloody well allowed her to move in with them.

How could he have been so insensitive? He _knew_ she could be bitchy, and hadn't she twice assaulted Christian (without that much provocation)? The cold hard fact remained that he'd not really taken Christian's side the way he probably might have done had access to Yasmin not been a factor in that complicated equation.

Yes, compromise was a song they all had to start singing in three part harmony, but it had taken him far too long to see that he was the only one who'd ever be truly singing in key. Not even Amira was getting all she wanted, yet it was Christian who'd pretty much got saddled with all those intricate harmonies that hurt your throat and put you on edge during the entire performance. How _could_ he have thought moving Amira and Yasmin in with them was going to do anything but make Christian feel like utter crap?

And it would appear that his insensitivity had been interpreted in the worst possible way, so much so that Christian had been pushed to the edge of 'never, no more'. And yeah, Syed knew it would take all he had to bring him back, but no way was he not going to _try_.

 

**

Christian had changed his mind: he'd phoned to let Syed know that he wasn't coming and Syed had completely lost it.

Cooler, now, he sat on the small sofa in his room and wondered at himself, wondered when he'd become such a dickhead, wondered when he'd decided that Christian leaving him was no longer an option – not for him, and certainly not for Christian. Yesterday he'd told Christian that they were just going to talk things through, implying, of course, that Christian had the option of saying no. Today they both understood that Syed probably wouldn't let him leave until he got a 'yes' out of him. And Christian, fully aware of that, had agreed to keep the appointment.

But this only served to make Syed more nervous: Christian had expectations too. What if he couldn’t live up to them? What if he saw in Christian's eyes indifference, reluctance, resentment? Could he really force him into anything under those terms? His operating principle was that Christian did still love him, did still want him, it was just that he didn't want the relationship as it was, on the same terms as before. And that's why they were meeting – to talk it through, decide the new terms. But he had to believe that Christian wanted it as badly as he did. Any sign of reluctance and he would let him go, hard as that would be.

And then what? Would he be strong enough to face his family afterwards and tell them what he'd decided?

Well yeah, moot – he'd have no choice.

Choice. So often lately he'd been asked to make choices. Why did it always, always come down to that?

 

**

Christian was wearing Syed's favourite jeans and he could tell that Christian took note of him noting that fact. “How long you planning on staying here?” He was looking around the room, expression neutral.

“Leaving today.”

Christian looked at him, clearly asking him to make his case, to get on with it. He was businesslike, not at all playful and Syed's nervous tension increased ten-fold.

“Sit down.”

“Thanks.” He sat on the edge of the bed, which surprised Syed, so much so that he found himself hesitating, uncertain where to sit: _he'd_ planned to sit on the bed, had expected Christian to choose the sofa...

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“Sy.” His voice was soft, gentle. “Come on.” Taking Syed by the hands he pulled him down to sit on the bed beside him. “Don't be like that, don't treat me like a guest.”

Syed looked at their hands, still joined on the bed between them. “You're making me nervous.”

“Since when do I make you nervous?” He was still using that voice, and now his hands were on Syed's face, and his mouth touching his lips. “It's been _how_ long since we made love?”

“Too long.” Yeah, too long. Not since Amira arrived.

“Much too long, but not long enough to forget, surely.” He was kissing Syed's ear, his neck, the side of his face.

“Christian.”

“Yeah, let's talk, but let's put _that_ on the table too. It's part of it, too, isn't it?”

“Always. That's never been an issue between us.”

“So if we trust each other so much in bed why can't we do the same out of bed?”

“Because we let other things get in the way.” He was holding Christian's hand against his cheek, telling him not to dare move it. “Other people.”

“Yes, we do, and you know what, Syed?” He was moving back so that he could look Syed in the face. “That's never going to change, is it?”

Syed stared at him, then frowned as he sensed where this was going. “Christian, don't. Please. I've made some decisions. I'm going to ask her for a divorce, ask for access to Yasmin...”

Sighing, Christian stroked a gentle hand through Syed's hair. “Sy, I don't think that'll make the difference you think it will. No, listen.” Putting an arm around him he pulled him close. “I want you to be happy. I'd rather it was with _me_ , but if I can't give you what you really want-”

“But you can, you _do_.”

Christian was silent for a long moment and Syed could sense that he was choosing his next words with care. “I can't and I don't. I think you've been making do with me. Yes, I know you want me, but it's a compromise, isn't it? Since you couldn't have a family I was the next best thing, but the point Sy, and the one _you_ seem to be missing, is that you now _have_ a family, everything you've ever wanted.” His eyes were sad, but clear – he definitely wasn't anywhere close to tearing up over _any_ of this. “You've reconciled with your family, you've reconciled with Amira, you have a beautiful, beautiful daughter. Sy, it's everything you have _ever_ wanted. Do you remember telling me that I wasn't ever going to be able to compensate you for losing that chance?”

“I never said that. Christian-”

“It's okay, Sy. I've come to terms with it.”

“No,” he protested, broken.

“And that's why I can't.” He kissed Syed softly on the forehead. “I can't live the way you want me to, and I can't take that opportunity away from you by asking you to just be content with _me_. Sorry, darling, I really am so, so sorry.”

And so broken was Syed that he couldn't even find the energy to tell him he was wrong, utterly, utterly wrong.

 

**

He was empty, so empty and knew he wouldn't be able to face either Amira or his mother, so he sought his father's company that evening, content to sit with him, telling him that he needed time to make some important decisions, be alone with his thoughts.

Christian had broken him, but he hadn't _meant_ to. That was the ironic thing: he thought he was doing it for Syed's sake, that deep down this was what Syed _wanted_. And he was right – reconciling with his family, being a full-time daddy to Yasmin, having the respect of the community were important to him, were what he longed for deep down. It was just that they were not enough. He had always, always thought that they would be, but turns out they just weren't.

“Dad, I'm going to ask Amira for a divorce.”

His father looked up at him. “You sure, son?”

“I don't love her.”

“Syed, there are many marriages - arranged marriages-”

“I will never have sex with her and I won't be faithful to her. I'll always be in love with, want someone else. Do you think it's fair to ask her to live her life like that? She's a beautiful woman dad – bright, intelligent- brilliant. Why should she live her life that way?”

His dad was silent for a moment. “Is this about Christian?”

“Dad, it's _always_ about Christian, just like it's always about mum for you, and you for her. He's part of who I am. We're not together out of some whim, some teenage crush that'll just fade. I know you have your own ideas when it comes to marriage, but I hope you'd do me the courtesy of accepting that I take it just as seriously as you do, so when I say I'm going to marry him you'll honour the gravity of my decision the way you honoured Tamwar's.”

His dad continued to stare gravely at him before nodding minutely. “It's not going to be easy, Syed, but if you're sure...”

“I'm sure I can't live without him, sure I can't live with Amira even with Yasmin as a reason to give it a go. And it's not just about loving Christian, dad, it's about being tired of always let other people's needs come before mine-”

“As a parent, Syed, that's what you do.”

“I'd do anything for her, but there's nothing to say that I have to lose Christian in order to be a good father to her: that's what _Amira_ wants and it's what you all want too-”

“Syed.”

“I’m not interested in arguing, dad, that's not what this is about. I'm just telling you that I'm no longer prepared to play happy families with Amira.”

“Her dad disowned her, Syed.”

“Oh go on, say it: because of me.”

“I didn’t-”

“She chose to do that, chose to do that because she knew it would pile more guilt on to us, on to me - and Christian. I don't think you have ever been able to see Amira for who she really is, dad, but that's not the point. Yes, of course I feel guilty and ashamed for the way I deceived her and I hate that she'd had to pay for my selfishness that way, but she can't have me. Wasn't that the whole point, that I was living a lie and eventually something had to give? You knew I was sleeping with Christian, that I was gay, yet you said nothing, wanted me to make a go of the marriage. Every single time it's about forcing me to keep living the lie. Well I'm tired of it, dad. I'm not doing it anymore. My daughter's going to grown up knowing who her daddy is. She's not going to grow up in the false belief that gay people can't be happy and committed and bloody good parents, that being gay means you settle for living the lie.” He gave his father a hard look. “Would you have wanted that for mum, to keep living the lie with Yusuf even though she was dying inch by inch every day? All these years you've been happy because you allowed love to be he guiding factor, not duty. I can't believe you'd demand the opposite of me.”

And that got through, he could see it in his dad's eyes.

“I'm unhappy, dad, have been since he left. Will you at least stand by me in this? Not because you _approve_ , but because I'm your son and you love me.”

And again he could see that this had hit home. “It's never been about not loving you, Syed-”

“Will you?”

His dad gave him a hard stare, but Syed didn't look away and eventually his dad nodded – reluctant, perhaps, but Syed knew he'd keep his word.

And that? Was better than gold.

 

**

“No, it is not good enough to say you needed to think. You should have let us know. And where are you now?”

“About to let myself into the flat, mum.”

“Oh.” He could tell that she'd been about to work herself up into a state and was now trying to change tracks. “Oh, alright, then, but do not think that this is the end of it, Syed. You have responsibilities: you cannot just go away and think. You are not a child.”

Amira was waiting by the door, giving him the perfect excuse to hang up. “Mum, I'll talk later. Okay? Bye.” 

She had Yasmin in her arms and although he didn't like to accuse her of manipulation, it certainly felt that way. “Syed.” She was doing the 'I'm not going to accuse you' thing, 'all I'm doing is trying to be a good friend'. He hated that, since it never failed to bring to mind all the ways he'd let her down; all the ways he'd _not_ been a good friend to her.

“Hi. Can we talk?”

“Sure.” She turned and went back into the flat, holding their daughter in such a way that she faced him, so that he could see her lovely face. Just a day apart and he already missed her like hell.

“Let me hold her for a minute.” He reached for her, smiling, drawing a smile from her in turn.

“Of course.” She handed Yasmin to him. “She missed you, Syed. She's got used to you being there at bedtime.”

Syed didn't respond to this, concentrating instead on communicating with his daughter. “Sorry I didn't let you know I wasn't coming home.”

“It's okay. I just didn't know what to tell our daughter.”

He really didn't see why that had been such an issue for her – Yasmin hadn't needed to be told a damn thing! “I know. Has she been good?”

“Well she got a bit grumpy last night and early this morning, and I could see she was missing you...”

To think that he hadn't been able to see how she'd been doing this before. He'd been so keen to make a bond with his daughter that he hadn't been able to see how Amira had been using that knowledge to control him. “I missed you too, darling.” He kissed her little cheek, then turned to her mother. “Amira this isn't working. Me and you, it doesn't feel right.”

He could tell he'd surprised her and for a moment she seemed unable to find anything to say. Extemporising, she moved to sit beside them, took Yasmin's little hand. “Syed, do you really think this is the best time?”

Syed sighed. No time would ever be the right time for this. “I want us to be friends, Amira, but I'm not sure that what we've got is that ...productive.”

“I have no idea how you can say that, Syed. Anyone can see that it's working. All your _family_ think it's working. It's exactly what our daughter needs - both parents living together, friends with each other. Syed I'm not trying to be any more than a _friend_. Have I given any indication at all that I'm looking for more than your friendship?”

On the face of it, no, but it was funny how everything seemed to be working out in her favour, and while he'd never considered her capable of _patience_ he'd started to wonder if he might not have badly underestimated her. What he knew about her for sure was her absolute determination to eventually have everything her own way. She was one of those people who always expected to get what they wanted: sooner, later, no matter - eventually they'd have it. And he knew for sure that she rarely allowed other people's wants or desires to deter her. So him wanting Christian was an irrelevance so far as she was concerned; him being gay also irrelevant. He was fairly sure she didn't actually believe that he _was_ gay, and had no doubt that his mother had added fuel to that particular fire. 

He met her gaze. “I know, but I don't want us to keep living together like this. It just doesn't feel right, Amira.”

“So you keep saying. I just don't understand what you mean by that. Don't you _want_ the best for our daughter?”

“I do, but I also want what's best for you – and me.”

“You're my husband, Syed. I'm not walking away just because things aren't perfect. I'm not Christian.”

He stared at her and could tell that she realised she'd made a misstep. “I didn't mean it that way. All I meant-”

“But you're right, aren't you? Christian did run away. He ran away because things _weren't_ perfect, but I know that doesn't mean he doesn't love me.”

“Syed.” She put a hand on his knee. “I know he means a lot to you, but... I don't know, perhaps he just couldn't cope.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“It must be really difficult for him, admitting to himself that maybe you're not exactly like _him_.”

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her gaze in that way she had, as if she were reluctant to say what she knew needed saying. “I don't...”

“No, go on.”

Her eyes were big, full of sympathy. “Syed, I don't want to hurt your feelings or speak ill of him, but I think Christian was quite jealous of you.”

“Of me? How do you mean?”

“Well the fact that you could do what he couldn't. I know he wanted to adopt...”

“We both did.”

“Yes I know, and you'd have thought he'd have been over the moon to find out that you had a daughter. I mean he does know that it's important to you...”

It seemed like a rhetorical question, so he treated it as such. After gauging his reaction, or non-reaction, she continued. “So, maybe, just maybe he – and I'm not trying to say anything against Christian, you know that, don't you?”Another pause for a verbal response that never came. “Well maybe he started to worry that your relationship would change, that Yasmin would be a constant reminder...”

Again the pause for him to insert a verbal response. This time he obliged. “Of what?”

“Of the fact that you used to sleep with women before _he_ came on the scene.”

Now there were several responses that flashed through Syed's mind at this point, but since there was not a single one that wouldn't be hurtful he discarded each and every one, settling for a the most innocuous he could come up with. “He's not the jealous type. _I'm_ the jealous one.”

She grinned, gave him a coy look. “Oh no need to remind me. Do you remember how crazy it made you to know I'd kissed that guy – Danny. I thought you were going to take me right there and then. Do you remember?”

Oh he remembered alright, and the thought made him ill. He'd been such a prick, such a mixed up, cowardly prick. He had not _once_ had sex with her because of _her_ – it always been as a result of external factors. With Danny it had been pride, no more than that, the prospect of another daring to touch his possession; the thought of how he would look in the community should anyone find out. And that time in the flat when she'd worn the shirt and said _all_ the right things. Christian had told him later that _he'd_ told her what to say, how to act. So it hadn't even _been_ her he' d wanted, just Christian, with her as his proxy.

He looked at her and nothing stirred, not even in memory. The sex had never been enjoyable. Even the one time that it had been, shown for what it was by that later revelation from Christian. He'd slept with her sure, but that had been for the reason they were sitting together that night – their daughter.

Had Amira been barren he would have gone nowhere near her – and what the hell did that tell you?

“You know I would never have gone with him, don't you? I was flattered by his attention, but,” She took his hand. “There's only ever been one man for me.”

Oh god, what the hell was he supposed to say now? “Amira-”

They both turned in some surprise as the door opened behind them.

Christian was standing there, keys in hand, looking cold, serious and utterly beautiful. 

“Christian!” He got instinctively to his feet, Yasmin still in his arms.

“Hello, Syed. Give Yasmin to her mother then pack as many of your clothes as you can get in a couple of bags. We'll come back in a few days to sort the flat.”

Syed stared at him. He'd said no. Had he changed his mind? Of course he bloody had! What the fuck was he doing just standing there? “Go to mummy, sweetheart. Daddy will be back in a minute.” Kissing Yasmin he handed her to a stony faced Amira then turned to Christian. “Can I borrow that blue one you never use?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” Christian seemed more focused on Amira than Syed at the moment and Syed found that he was simply too tired to pretend to care to try protecting her from him.

“Thank you,” he whispered in Christian's ear as he walked past, then kissed him full on the mouth for emphasis. “Won't be long. You in a cab?”

“Simon.”

“Okay.”

He worked quickly, hoping that by doing so he might forestall the shedding of blood he was sure only Yasmin's presence was preventing. Her presence wasn't stopping them taking chunks out of each other, however.

He was trying not to listen, but wanted to hear what they 'had on each other', what each considered their trump card.

Well he knew that for Amira it was Yasmin, but was really keen to find out what it would be for _Christian_. But Christian didn't go there. He called her a manipulative cow and variations on the theme, but never once said _why_ it was that he would win and she always lose, despite her trump card.

But he must _know_ ; wasn't that why he was here, because in the end he'd _known_?

He came back in the middle of her cursing Christian in Urdu – some really foul, foul things. “Amira!”

“You coward!” she railed. “ _He_ comes back and you give up everything? What did he promise you, Syed? Do you really think it'll _work_ this time when it's never worked before? How soon before you long for something else? Long to have your daughter back in your life?”

Christian began to speak, but with a firm hand on the arm, Syed stopped him. “Could you put these in the car for me, Christian?”

Their eyes met and held for a moment in silent communion. Then taking the bag from him Christian turned and left the flat.

“I cannot believe you're letting him do this, Syed.” She hadn't even had the grace to put their daughter down while she spat venom at Christian, and Yasmin was big-eyed, staring at him, arms held out for comfort.

Taking her he held her little body tight against him, whispered words of comfort. Had he not known just how good a mother Amira really was he'd have been sorely tempted to try for custody of their daughter. She'd probably always try to use Yasmin as a bargaining chip, but that, in his opinion, didn't make her a bad mother, just a desperate woman trying to put together the shattered pieces of a life that once held so much promise. “Come here.” Holding out his free arm he pulled her to him. “Don't cry, Amira. I'll be back, I promise, but this is something I have to do right now.”

“Did you hear the things he said to me?”

“He was angry, you _both_ were.”

“Syed, listen to me. Please.” And she was crying now, but they were tears of desperation, not of loss, not of sorrow. “He's going to hurt you again. He's going to do everything he can to persuade you that you don't need Yasmin in your life. He'll try to make it seem like you'd be better off without her. And I know that's not what you want. I've seen you, Syed - all these weeks together, with me, with her, and I know you've never been happier. Even your mother says the _same_ thing. She says that since you've had Yasmin in your life you've seemed like the man she used to know before- before _he_ came on the scene.” She took hold of his arm, long nails only prevented from piercing his skin by the barrier of leather covering it. “Think, Syed. Please think. Is he really worth it, worth losing everything for? He left you, ran away, tried to stop you seeing your daughter. God, he even came on to another guy – a sixteen year old kid! Is he really the sort of man worth ruining your life for?”

Syed sighed, kissed his daughter before hadn’t her to her mother. “I'll be back in a couple of days to talk properly. I think it's best if we both have a few days to cool down.”

“Syed!” she shouted, and though he should have seen it coming he didn't, and her open-handed slap caught him full on the left cheek, rocking his head back.

 

“Stop it!” he pleaded, his only concern the fact that she still had his daughter in her arms. “Not in front of Yasmin. Please.”

She looked like she was getting ready to spit at him, but Yasmin's weight at her side must have finally broken through the red fog of rage because she blinked, and looked down at her. “Sorry, darling. It's okay. Daddy's okay.” Turning her back to him she began to croon to her daughter.

He watched them for a while, feeling wretched. “Amira?”

She didn't turn, didn't reply, didn't acknowledge him in any way and he realised that it was time to leave.

 

**

He heard it before he got through the door: Christian and his mother going at it.

Simon was in the car, parked immediately outside his flat, and when he saw Syed, raised an enquiring brow. Syed didn't know how much Christian had told him about their history, their situation, but perhaps he didn't _need_ to be told that this was Syed's mum and that she and Christian did not see eye to eye...

Sickened, he watched and listened as they threw hurtful words at each other, neither seeming to realise – or even care – that he was listening.

He was so tired of this. Christian had been right – it would always be this way. If anything they'd probably hate him even more now; hate him for ruining Syed's chance of happiness for the second time. Christian had the hide of a rhino but even he'd not been able to stomach the prospect of taking that level of hostility for the foreseeable future.

Christian had told him no, yet in the end he _had_ come for him. Syed wasn't sure what the plan was, but he'd said he'd be back to sort the flat, meaning that so far as he was concerned they'd no longer be living there. And Syed realised that that was the only way it was going to work. Christian hadn't ever suggested it to them during their time together, but perhaps he'd felt that it had to come from Syed. Perhaps he still did, perhaps he was planning to take him away, test him perhaps, see if he'd come to that conclusion all by himself.

That was how he worked, Syed realised – wanted Syed to lead _himself_ to the water, as well as take the drink. Perhaps he needed Syed to simply make a decision that would show Christian, in the way Christian needed it shown, that he was loved, that Syed was committed to them. He didn't want Syed to lose his child, but maybe he needed Syed to show that he was prepared to lose _something_ that was also important to him...

Opening the passenger door he got in and turned to Simon. “Honk the horn, pick him up.”

Simon merely nodded, gave a loud honk on the horn and when Christian turned, allowed the car to creep forward.

Syed had wound down the window and as Christian's eyes met his, said: “Get in.” His vice and expression allowing no room for refusal.

Christian got in the car. 

Syed would swear he could actually see _and_ feel the sparks coming off him. “You'd better have somewhere nice and warm lined up. Also,” He swivelled in his seat until their eyes met. “The best tikka you have ever, ever cooked.”

Simon laughed. “So you were right.” He glanced at Christian, then explained to Syed. “He _told_ us that you'd say that, and don't worry, we've had it on the go for a few hours, and it is delicious, trust me.”

Syed felt warm and dizzy. Christian knew him that well, had come for him, come to fucking rescue him, prepared to fight for him, take all the insults in the world – for him; prepared to hurt again – for him. “It had better be.” But it was a caress, a soft kiss and Christian's smiling eyes told him that he knew that.

“Can we go, please?” Simon was definitely growing on him: for a start he was really good at simply following instructions.

As Simon drove slowly out of the square Syed wondered how long that picture would stay with him: the sight of his mother and wife watching him with eyes full of anger and resentment, his daughter held between them like an accusation.

Something told him that it wouldn't take very much for his mother to turn against him, to join with Amira in campaigning against him, but he was not going to allow this to sour things – not tonight, not now.

Christian had come for him and that was _all_ that really mattered.

 

**

Simon's partner was called Con. He had a soft Irish accent and was a dab hand in the kitchen apaprently. Well if his Tikka was anything to go by, he was more than a dab hand.

“Delicious,” he pronounced a mere hour after leaving Albert Square. “Can you cook _all_ the time?” A plea.

“I can and do,” Con assured him. “Simon's good with the Italian, but he leaves me to take care of the more exotic cuisine.”

“And by Italian he means pizza.” Christian was happy, even more effervescent than he normally was. Syed felt curiously proud of him. Obviously these were his friends, but even so he felt that _anyone_ would have envied him Christian as a partner.

“I love pizza,” Syed said, drawing amused chuckles from the others.

“Actually this one's very picky about his food.”

“What, I love fish and chips – even Beales'.”

“Point taken. Not that picky, after all.”

“That's your brother-in-law you're sniping at.”

“Ex brother-in-law thank you very much, and I never did like him that much.”

“No,” Syed agreed. “Me either.”

Considering that his life was in the toilet – in a manner of speaking – he was actually ridiculously fucking happy.

Simon and Con were putting Christian up until he made a decision about some house he'd been offered (Christian told him they'd talk later) and their apartment was pretty swanky, definitely more upmarket than he'd been expecting. It was nice here, nice and comfortable, their hosts easy going and not at all intrusive – just exactly what he needed right now. But what he really, _really_ needed was to be alone with his lover. How long since he'd kissed him properly?

“Any chance of you helping me unpack?” The question was punctuated by the creep of his hand along Christian's inner thigh, just in case Christian wasn't able to read between the lines.

As it turned out Christian had no trouble reading between the lines. Turning to Con and Simon he offered to clear away, wash up, probably fully aware that his offer would be refused, and when it was, informed them that he'd get Syed settled in.

“Take your time,” Simon told them, smile hardly hidden behind his wine glass. “Been a long day, right? Feel free to treat the place as your own, Syed, and we'll see you in the morning.”

Okay then, so that was pretty much giving him carte blanche to keep Christian in bed for hours? Fantastic. “Thanks Simon. For everything.”

“You're welcome. See you later.”

 

**

Christian had the 'smaller' bedroom, and all Syed could say was that if this was small he'd love to see the master bedroom!

“Wow! This must go for close to a million, Christian. How the hell do they afford-”

“Shut up for a minute. We'll price the fucking house later, okay?” He'd taken Syed by the waist, pulling him close until they were groin to groin. “Now you may think I'm capable of twice in one day having you alone in a bedroom and _not_ doing anything about it- but actually you _wouldn't_ think that since you _know_ me...” He started where he knew Syed was most vulnerable, eventually making his way to his mouth. “Tikka kisses – my favourite.”

Syed moaned his reply. “How thick are the walls?”

“Is that a _challenge_?”

“Fuck yeah – if you want it to be.”

“Mr Masood, are you sure you want to issue that challenge? This is a respectable neighbourhood.”

“They've never heard a Muslim begging to be fucked before?”

“Well probably not at the top of his lungs, no.”

“Well let's fucking give them the thrill of their lives then.”

“Of course I don't think this Muslim guy would have to _beg_...”

“You sure? Seems to me that the _begging_ is going to start any minute now.”

“Oh well, when you put it that way...”

 

**

“You are fucking heavy. What you been doing, lifting weights?”

Syed smacked him on the arm. He'd missed this, missed having Christian as hot-water bottle and pillow combined. “I think it's you not wanting to do any of the work.”

“How many different ways did you ask me – oh my bad – _demand_ that I fuck you?”

“I thought you said I didn't _need_ to beg.”

“So the opposite of begging is going all dom and demanding?”

“Isn't it?”

He could feel Christian laughing. It was always like this, even their most intense love-making had an element of fun and laughter to it – either during foreplay or post-coital.

He had really, really missed this. Like Christian had said earlier they always got this so very, very right. Why then they couldn’t do the same in _other_ areas was something he was unable to explain. “Love you.” He placed a kiss in the hollow of Christian's neck.

Sighing, Christian tightened the arm around Syed's shoulders. “Me too. Always have, probably always will.”

“Same.”

There wasn't anything else to say here, so they allowed the silence to build around them.

Even now it felt different, like all the crap that they still had to face had reduced to mere specks rather than the huge black boulders they'd been even a few hours before. They had to learn to translate this trust and certainty to other aspects of their relationship. Had to.

“Christian.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you come back? You said you weren't going to earlier. What made you change your mind?”

He could tell that Christian wasn't all that ready to talk, but knew he would anyway. “I've always loved you, Syed, you know that, and I didn't change my mind as such. I never let you go, no matter what it _looked_ like. I suppose I just needed to know that you hadn't let _me_ go either. I could see that you hadn't, but I suppose I needed a few hours by myself to think it through, to decide if being with me would hurt you more than _not_ being with me. That's the bottom line for me, Syed – if it was worth it for you. I left because I was sure that it wasn't, but when I saw how unhappy you were I knew we'd have to work something out, no matter how imperfect. I just knew I couldn't let you be that unhappy and pretend everything was okay. I know you never mean to hurt me, just as I never mean to hurt you. We hurt each other – that's a fact – but it's not and should never be a _deal_ breaker. I made the mistake of making it _be_ a deal breaker, and you're right, Syed, I was wrong to do that. I did think, though, that it would be a mistake talking about it, asking you to come away with me, because I wasn't sure that if you had time to think about it you'd allow the weight of expectation to hold you back and I just couldn’t go through any of that again. Sorry if I pushed you too hard.”

Syed laughed. “You know me too fucking well, that's the only thing that worries me.” He smiled into his face. “I needed rescuing, Christian, _needed_ you to do that for me. Not because I hadn't already made the decision to ask for a divorce – with or without you – but because I just needed to know someone loved me _despite_ everything, despite me not being perfect, despite me not giving them what they wanted. You’re the one person, Christian who just loves me. Maybe Tam too, but that's different.”

“I should bloody hope so.” He kissed Syed's mouth, teasing.

Syed chuckled. “Can you imagine his face?”

“I’m trying not to, to be honest, Sy.”

Sighing in contentment, Syed snuggled in close. “I want this for the rest of my life. You know that, don't you?”

“I do.”

“I want to fight for access. You're okay with that, aren't you?”

“You think it'll come to that?”

“Don't you? Christian she still wanted us to be – I don't even know what – but it wasn't the way _I_ was seeing it.”

“I’m sorry, Sy. I really am.”

“Me too. I wish it could have worked out differently, but maybe there really was no chance of that happening, given who I am, given who _she_ is.”

“Yeah.”

“I was stupid before.”

“No.”

“I shouldn't have allowed her to get her claws in. I don't know why I was so blind. I should have tried to see it from _her_ point of view – that she saw you as the _intruder_ , that ours was the legitimate relationship and in time I'd see it that way too. Christian, she had an agenda – still not completely sure what it consisted of – and I allowed her to think I'd be on board with it. And you know what, I think I _might_ have been. I would have gone along with it, because that's me all over isn't it? I don't know why I keep doing that. It's like I don't have the capacity to find a way to get what I want without hurting those I love-”

“Sy, come on, don't.” Christian kissed his forehead and tightened his embrace. “You always try to do the right thing, always try to find a way to get things done with the least amount of collateral damage and that's nothing to get down on yourself for. It's bloody admirable. It's why I love you. Yes, it's frustrating when all I want is for you to choose in my favour, but you wouldn't be you if you didn't try to make things easy for other people and I don't want you to change.”

“But, Christian, it doesn't work, it always ends up making me really unhappy. It always ends up with me being the one who doesn't get what he wants – you. Bottom line, it's always about not having you and I'm sick of it. Why the hell shouldn't I be ruthless for once and just decide what's most important for _me_? Cos that's what I've done. You and Yasmin – that's how it's always been, what I was trying to work my way round to having. But I went about it the wrong way, Christian, I see that now, because sometimes you can't have what you want and give other people what _they_ want too. So, you simply have to decide what it is you really can't live without and make _that_ the deciding factor. I can't live without you and I can't live without my daughter, so that's what we're going to make sure I have in my life. I just hope you can see beyond all the mistakes I made to that truth, Christian – that all the stuff I did, all the compromises I was prepared to make was just to ensure that I could have you both. Everything conspired to make me see it as either or – either Yasmin (and Amira) or you – but I see now that part of that was down to me – my inability to let go, to grow up and be my own man. I need to get out of Walford, Christian, I really do.”

“I know and don't worry, I've made plans.”

There was so much he could have said here, but the only thing that came to mind was a soft, heartfelt: “Thank you.”

“Fancy another ...snack?”

Syed grinned up at him. “Maybe later. Just want to enjoy this, catch up on all your news. I don't know if I've said this yet, but I bloody missed you.”

“And Pakistan?”

“No substitute for you.”

“And don't you ever, ever forget it, Masood. You are stuck with me, like it or not.”

“I like it.”

“Good. Now let's get some kip. You need to preserve your strength for that snack we're having later.”

Smiling, Syed reached up, demanding his lips. “I'm going to make you beg.”

“Challenge accepted.”

A warm handed slid to his left buttock and squeezed.

Syed laughed into his mouth.

 

 

 


End file.
